Bound by a Baby Bump. Ellie Darkins

was holding and sat down heavily on the bed. Rubbing her fists against her eye sockets, she tried to take the information in and formulate a plan for what to do next. When she finally looked up, Leo was still standing in the doorway, watching her, a concerned look on his face.

      ‘Are you on the pill?’

      ‘No,’ she said firmly, picking up her phone and jabbing at the screen. ‘I’m not. But I’ll stop at a pharmacy on my way to work and get the morning-after pill.’

      She then nudged him gently out of the bathroom doorway with her hip.

      ‘The door’s just on the latch,’ she said, desperate to be alone to gather her thoughts, and sure that Leo must be wanting to leave by now. She hadn’t expected him to stay even this long. ‘You can just pull it closed on your way out. Last night was lovely.’ She turned and reached up to kiss him gently on the cheek then shut the door behind her.

      She went about her Sunday-morning routine with meticulous precision, determined to banish the butterflies left over from her going off-plan last night with the familiarity of her routine. Shower, exfoliate, hair mask, face mask, cuticle oil. The appearance of a slightly scruffy-looking man with the ability to keep her awake half the night didn’t mean her pores or her nails had to suffer.

      It served as a timely reminder that she probably should have stuck to her plan A last night. Having a plan B was all good and well, but that didn’t mean one always had to use it. Responding to change was part of her job, but a plan was meant to create order, not the chaos that threatened at the edges of her morning.

      She emerged from the bathroom half an hour later with face, body and mind scrubbed smooth. And nearly dropped her towel at the sight of Leo stretched out on her unmade bed, eyes shut, breathing heavily, with two cups of coffee and a plate of toast on a tray beside him. Looking outrageously tempting. If it wasn’t for the unease that gripped her shoulders, she might have been tempted to join him for round three. Instead she closed the door loudly, trying to wake him. He didn’t stir. Clutching her towel more tightly, she walked over to the bed and reached out to shake him. But his fingers captured her wrist before she could touch him.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, too genuinely surprised to try and sugar-coat her words.

      ‘You asked me back here. You had a plan, remember?’ She smiled, trying to convince her shoulders there was no reason for them to tense and bunch up.

      ‘No, I mean, why are you still here?’

      ‘How about because I’m enjoying your company?’ He reached and stretched behind him, then propped himself on his elbow, watching her from the bed as if he had every right to be there.

      ‘I’ve not been keeping you company. I’ve been in the bathroom.’

      ‘For an age. I know. What were you doing in there?’

      ‘Grooming,’ she replied with a quick, accidental glance at his tangle of hair, the stubble on his chin, the wrinkled shirt.

      ‘Meow.’ He laughed as he sat up on the unmade bed and reached for a coffee. ‘Are you always this mean in the morning?’

      ‘Are you always this annoying?’

      Her scowl cracked into a grin as she sat beside him.

      ‘This will help.’ She reached for the other cup of coffee and took a long gulp. ‘And then I really do have to go. I have things to do at the office.’

      ‘The office? You know it’s a Sunday, right? I saw your boss last night. I bet he’s not going to be racing out of bed to get to work.’

      ‘Quite. All the more reason why I have to. I had to put a few things on the back burner in the lead-up to the fundraiser. I want to get them moving again.’

      ‘They’ll still be there tomorrow. I, on the other hand...’

      ‘Will be long gone—you were quite adamant about that last night, I remember. And yet here you are, holding me up when I want to get to work.’

      ‘You work too hard.’ The deliberate change of subject wasn’t lost on her.

      ‘Do you work at all?’ she asked, genuinely curious, and realising now how little she knew about him. Other than that he likely had a rich benefactor, of course.

      He nodded as he took a gulp of coffee. ‘Sort of.’

      ‘Sort of? Anyone I know who “sort of” has a job has mainly been occupied spending a trust fund.’

      He winced, she noticed.

      ‘So when you say “sort of”, you don’t have an actual job.’

      ‘You could say that.’ His grin told her that he was enjoying frustrating her, refusing to spill the details of his life. Not that it mattered to her what he did or didn’t do, she reminded herself. It was just she was curious, having spent the night with a man to whom the very idea of a plan near on brought him out in hives.

      ‘So how do you fill your days? When you’re not attending gala dinners, that is.’

      He gave her a carefully nonchalant look. ‘I spend it at the beach.’

      She nearly snorted her coffee with a good-natured laugh. ‘Well, I should have guessed that,’ she said, draining the dregs.

      She hunted in her drawers for underwear and grabbed a simple shift dress from the wardrobe and then headed into the bathroom. When she emerged, dressed and perfectly coiffured, Leo was leaning against the kitchen counter, jacket and shoes on, the smile gone from his eyes.

      * * *

      ‘I didn’t want to just disappear. I could walk you to the train? I have to get going.’ He hoped his voice sounded less conflicted than he felt. That he wasn’t giving away his battle between regret and impatience. Leo Fairfax didn’t do regrets. He was walking away because it was the only way to be safe. The only way to ensure he didn’t find himself in a situation that was intolerable, as he had at school. As much as last night and this morning had been exhilarating, wonderful, this had to end now.

      He’d been perfectly frank last night that she shouldn’t expect anything lasting from him.

      ‘A walk to the station would be good. Are you ready to go?’

      Leo reached for her hand as they walked along the leafy street, and wound his fingers with hers. It was only when he felt her hesitation, the tension in her muscles, that he realised what he’d done. He didn’t do holding hands. He didn’t do Shall I walk you to the station? because that led to expectation, and that was the very last thing that he wanted.

      One morning like this led to another and another, until it became impossible to escape. But her hand felt right in his, her delicate, smooth palm lost in his huge, calloused, weather-worn grip. This was a choice, a pleasure, and he couldn’t make himself take it back or regret it. He let go briefly as they passed through the ticket barrier, and had to stop himself from wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked through the station.

      ‘I go north here,’ she said eventually, when they reached the stairs. ‘You want the southbound train, right?’

      ‘Right.’ He hesitated, no more willing to walk away from her now than he had been earlier in the morning. He tightened his hand around hers for a moment, the thought of waving her off causing an unexpected and unfamiliar pang. How could he want to keep hold of her and yet fear being tied to her at the same time?

      Rachel wouldn’t settle for someone drifting in and out of her life on a whim or desire. Whoever she decided to share her life with, she’d want him as predictable as the tide—she’d never stake her luck on waves and weather.

      If he wanted more of her, it would mean dates and calendars and plans. And contingency plans and comparing schedules and an itinerary agreed months in advance. The thought of those constrictions, of being tied into someone else’s expectations, demands...suddenly it was hard to breathe.

      Since